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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28426119">Metronome</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/npop/pseuds/npop'>npop</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lego Ninjago</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Childhood Memories, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reminiscing, Sewing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:20:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28426119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/npop/pseuds/npop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Like Zane, Lloyd finds a source of comfort in the art of needle and thread.</p><p>For the Ninjago Calender.</p><p>Prompt:<br/>Blanket/comfort for the month of November and Season 4.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ninjago Calendar</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Metronome</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zane has a habit of keeping to himself after a particularly rough mission. Maybe it’s about that certain pressure residing in being a Nin-Droid that they'll never know and in tune, the gang learns to accept it over time, letting him take his privacy in peace. </p><p>Lloyd stumbles upon him one evening in those moments of solitude. Out back in the storage area with those various multi-colored gis adorning the walls. Some recognizable, battered down silken muddled with the characters that build up their names. Others, relics of time lost in strokes of ink and blotched up paper. Bits and fragments of lives they carry on in their memory in faded out colors and loosening stitches overcome with mothballs. </p><p>Seated among various boxed up uniforms of their past, is Zane, humming just right under his breath, own death white gi loose in his grasp, sturdy cloth ripped and torn from their recent outing. </p><p>“Hey - woah,” Lloyd fumbles over his words and himself, just barely tripping over a combination of cardboard and laces, his own set of tabi long discarded in place for a comforting pullover and trainers.</p><p>“Good evening, Lloyd.” Zane responds, barely sparing him a glance, eyebrows knitted together as he loops the black thread tight back in between, gliding through his fingers.</p><p>Lloyd props himself on a box, feet just barely touching the floor. "You know, we can always get you a new one."</p><p>"Father always told me not to be wasteful."</p><p>Words pulling him out of the loop of camaraderie, a thick bundle of shame welling up in him almost instantly but all Lloyd can say is, “Right. Good of him, I suppose.”</p><p>Silence begins to settle in the air before Zane clears his throat, "I can show you if you'd like."</p><p>Taking advantage of a rare moment, he props up beside him, observing the fine lines that adorn the seams he’s patching up, barely beginning but still visible. Baby steps.</p><p>“I learned this you know, by myself.” Zane begins as if challenging him. </p><p>Lloyd lets him ramble on, attaching himself to the things he understands and taking in notice how Zane pauses often in between his sentences, selecting his words carefully before he finds himself again in the midst of technological jargon.</p><p>“Do you understand what I’m saying?” </p><p>Lloyd shrugs. “More or less.”</p><p>“I'm sorry. I can get caught up in my own world sometimes. I’ll be better.” </p><p>“No, don't worry about it. I like you for you. Keep at it.”</p><p>At that, Zane smiles.</p><p>It becomes a pattern after that. He’ll linger on Chirp, searching for patterns, mostly fanart of his comics. With that, Lloyd takes in vibrant colors into his own hands against bleach white evenweave with a glinting needle. Poking and prodding his way into creating something beautiful as practice before Zane decides it’s time for him to move on to the next challenge that awaits him. </p><p>Zane’s criticism is straightforward with an underlying tinge of sweetness that sickens Lloyd yet makes him feel proud, almost as boastful as his younger self when he does manage to make something satisfactory. In tune, they work together, aligned in fabric, and the routine fits but most importantly it clears Lloyd’s head. After all, Jay did mention that Lloyd was going through his angsty pre-teen phase. What better way to clear it all out?</p><p>But really. </p><p>It’s a strange feeling. Standing tall when you don’t even know when you want and even before, it was like this. In the way they'll quickly shut their tongues in the midst of conversation in the moment he'll walk in. And yes, he's a bit taller now and his voice does break, choking against his will during team meetings that leaves him fuming all over, stuck in something that he can’t shake and leaves him with utter loathing.</p><p>Zane always made him feel ten times more welcome after he made the team. Like he was truly at home. He’s not babied when he’s with him. Well, not at least in the way that the others do. Zane knows the feeling of lacking place all too well. Something about wandering in between man and machine. Oni and kid. It’s not the same, but it’s close and for just once, they almost feel whole amongst each other.</p><p>It's strange. Floating in the realm of adulthood and childhood. Looking from outside but never joined in. </p><p>Father helps with that in ways that Zane cannot. </p><p>He doesn't know all the details, all by now accepting that he'll never know Father quite exactly in the way he wants to. Only diving in from the bits and fragments of knowledge of the poison that awoke in his veins, thrusting aside his innocence into something that he couldn't control. That he didn't know. Lost in and fighting against himself. </p><p>Like Lloyd.</p><p>He likes soft things really, they both do come to realize, he and Father. Pillow forts and starry nights when they became comfortable with each other, the thought of past fighting now dwelling far from their minds. Pulling apart baozi that Zane would bake up, bread and pork plush in between his teeth. A childhood favorite of his Father’s. Carefully chosen out stories that Father would share of his youth with Uncle in between parables of doing the right thing and a strange insistence of never changing for someone else. </p><p>Alike in ways that are separate from their blood. That famed Garmadon Sweet Tooth manifesting itself in the shape of the sugared sticky rice they shared during their first Autumn Full Moon. A from Grandmother along with those lotus seed filled mooncakes baked with love and egg filling. A sort of peace compromise between her and Father, at least that’s what Father says. Marshmallows and cotton candy, grabbed by the handful from an unsuspecting shopkeep in town, in a desperate attempt to prove himself back during his Darkly Days. </p><p>A plethora of stuffed animals stacked high up in the shelves of his boyhood back in Grandmother’s house, for she knows better than to send his prized possessions back with Uncle. Something about her saying one night, when they’d drop by Uncle’s temple when they’d all reunite with Grandmother in the rare times Mama would pass by. Grandmother would scold Uncle in her usual manner, with her nagging finger saying things like, “Hey where’s that new set of glasses you owe me from last time, huh?”</p><p>Then they’d all laugh and Mama would flush in embarrassment as Lloyd would stare because he doesn’t know what kind of glasses they’re talking about and besides what exactly did happen to them? Now at his age, he’s long since learned from that conversation and from personal experience to have a backup plan for his rare copies of comics that unfortunately happen to be quite flammable. As it turns out, as a ninja, there is never a dull day when consistently being under the threat of being attacked in your very wooden monastery. Too bad Nya won’t take his suggestion of a metal force field seriously. </p><p>Memories of cleaning days come back to him in between avoiding fires and sneak attacks. Old synth-pop tunes crooning out in Grandmother’s dialect blaring all throughout her little house and the rough scent of cleaner hanging in the air. Bringing out the old baby pictures from storage to flaunt about, much to his embarrassment, rearranging long since grown out clothes that she handles with care, seams still tight. </p><p>“I take care of them in case you have your own kids one day.” Grandmother mentioned with a mischievous glint in her eye during his last visit. “Besides, I made them!”</p><p>“Oh, look! This is the first blanket I made for you.” </p><p>Green with an embroidered dragon stitched in gold at the edges. Lucky colors. Lloyd had never considered himself to be lucky.</p><p>“I’m too old for that.” He protested at first. (Regardless, he did end up taking the blanket. Sure it’s corny and maybe she wasn’t aware of his “destiny” before it, but still, that’s his Baa-baa!)</p><p>All she did was laugh like she knew something and in turn, Lloyd’s ears burned. </p><p>“Then what will keep you warm at night?”</p><p>That, he had the answer to. </p><p>A shred of black and a sliver of white, neon four all wrapped up in one bundle of comfort. Had it as long as he can remember, a memento from Mama in their rare moments together. </p><p>"I thought you could use a new sweater, with the weather and all," She had said in a stilted tone, thin spectacles tipping over the bridge of her nose and that glint of green fabric round her neck almost mocking him in memory many years later.</p><p>Never going without it from that day, ignoring how it was much too big for him, pooling over his hands and the hood draping over his head. Always being sewn up, stretched out, retailored all together by Grandmother over and over. Until now because he's tearing up that painted up number four of nylon in between his fingers with thread stuck in between his teeth, scissors at bay. Nimble fingers trailing along the silk of his gi, needle secure in his left hand. Letting his midnight gi rest in his lap, he frees the red thread from his mouth and squints through the opening of the needle, nose scrunching. Careful not to poke himself, running the red thread in between the shining silver. </p><p>Physically, he’s grown into his shoes but still, Lloyd clings to his boyhood.</p><p>"Father always told me not to be wasteful," echoes in his head as he secures the fabric, making sure that the stitches do not unfurl. Testing it over and over again through his Spinjitzu until his youth and whatever stage he's at now meld into one. And he feels safe. Secure. So, thanking Zane in the back of his mind, not only does he hope for better days, no, he crafts them with needle prodded hands. Equipped with a spool of thread, one that he dares the fates to unravel.</p><p>Instead, the Fates decided to cut it.</p><p>"Do not forget to bundle up," Zane would say. Before a mission, before he'd go out to seek Uncle's peculiar brand of wisdom, before this. A phrase often repeated to him even before he met Zane, yet now taking much more meaning into his heart. Sliding that dark whirl of fabric on, a secure hood covering his bleach blonde head, those words sticking with him, a sort of wave of protection every time he’d turn to leave. </p><p>Like now.</p><p>They're in the beginning of autumn, the sun still sweltering far too hot for them and as fiery as Kai's frustration because he's as out of control as Lloyd feels right now. Both serving as the backbones of the team, keeping the spark going in their own ways. </p><p>But the thing is, Zane is their mediator. </p><p>Keeping everyone at ease, in ways it proves difficult for the others and it is in these moments when they realize that when one falls, in turn, they all do. A domino effect that escalates in the back of their minds pushing through all of their banter, in their anxieties. Because who wouldn’t want to distract themselves when they’re off to the middle of nowhere and even with a guiding light, still they are lost.</p><p>(Because they need their brother back. Zane, who packs up emotion and heart into everything he cooks up, defying what others assume of him, who deserves to be soft and loved and they just don’t deserve his sacrifices because he cares too much and it’s just so hard being without him.)</p><p>Lanterns lit with flame and the passage ship is leering with those like himself yet in these moments, Lloyd has never felt so alone. Gripping the wooden rail, the tough edges digging into the flesh of his palm and tufts of blonde hanging over his eyes, staring into salt ridden water, Lloyd wonders if winter will ever return before the season is over.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>baa-baa: grandma in japanese</p><p>i reference mooncakes and dango because i headcannon lloyd as japanese + chinese</p></blockquote></div></div>
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